


Heartsease

by Slytherincess, smutty_claus



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-09
Updated: 2006-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:12:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slytherincess/pseuds/Slytherincess, https://archiveofourown.org/users/smutty_claus/pseuds/smutty_claus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartsease

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Slytherincess (aka Adjudicated) as part of the 2006 Smutty Claus exchange.

**Title:** _Heartsease_

 

**Author:** Slytherincess

 

**Gift For:** Eonone

 

**Rating:** NC-17

 

**Pairing(s):** Lucius/Pansy with peripheral Draco/Pansy and Lucius/Narcissa

 

**Summary:** _Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye_.

 

**Warnings:** Voyeurism; Cross-Gen; Dubious Consent

 

**Author's notes:** Written mostly during [Banned Books Week 2006](http://www.ala.org/Template.cfm?Section=bbwlinks&Template=/ContentManagement/ContentDisplay.cfm&ContentID=136590) and inspired by the novel _Lolita_, by Vladimir Nabokov. I suppose this is a tribute of sorts. I won't assume everyone has read either _Lolita_ or Nabokov at all, so I think I should mention that Nabokov is an extremely purple writer, but in such a grand and majestic way, one just has to be forgiving! So, in that vein, the effusive, over-the-top writing style I've used in this fic is very deliberate. I figured if there was any HP character I could plausibly do this with it would be Lucius, the pompous sod! Eonone, I really hope you enjoy this.

 

**Archiving:** Originally posted [here](http://www.journalfen.net/community/smutty_claus/45692.html?mode=reply).

  
_Heartsease_   


  


\- - -

  


  
_Egg_   


  


  
_   
**1**   
_   


I predicate my sin on both property and relation, for what am I, if not a despicable man, a man of an unjustifiable entitlement forged from aeons of generational grandiosity? Toward my subject, of her I could say many things. Such as, on the day she was born, the sky shimmered unexpectedly with clouds of Blue Morpho butterflies, strayed far off course from the Trinidads. Or how as an infant her wild shock of dark hair was an embarrassment to her mother, or that her eyes were the tantalising, Prussian colour of the sky just ready to turn over from the night. She was a fierce child with a beautifully sour countenance who laughed shrilly and possessed a hard, round face that scrunched up when she cried, a visible reminder of her cross, namesake flower. From birth, nothing she did was uncalculated, and she roamed the rooms and halls of my ancestral home with deliberate inquisitiveness, her quick mind taking inventory of every object encountered. She was never impressed with valuables, exhibiting the subtle, nonchalant way of the moneyed. No, it was always the throwaway items she would covet, ordinary, everyday items, that would catch her fancy with a single anomaly: a polished, pink crystal egg -- flawless save for the natural crack splitting its insides; a bifurcated miniature peacock's feather fashioned into a single quill; a vile, three-legged Kneazle even, which she took for a pet at age six after having dragged it spitting and hissing from within a tangled thicket of brambles in the forest underbrush. The revolting creature appalled all who encountered it but her face lit up in its company, and she named it Rroyy [pronounced 'Roy']. There is too much to say of her, I regret. Too much to say! Yet for you, kind reader, I shall do my best to provide a worthy snapshot.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**2**   
_   


My home was her second, my son the brother her own parents would never give her. The memories of her youth float through my mind shrouded in panels of thin cotton and tatted lace, the favoured fabrics of the nightgowns she wore during weekend sleepovers with Draco. Picture this! With her cross, unforgiving face tired and her body snuggled sleepily against the curving banister of my manor's main staircase, she would clutch there at my son's forearm as she bade me goodnight with a yawn: _Goodnight, Mr. Malfoy_. This was my cue to escort the both of them up to my son's bedroom and to lay them to their innocent sleep. "Ladies first," I would always say, and as my son turned over in his bed to await my terse ministrations I would first turn my attention to the strange, fetching creature that waited impatiently on his other twin bed. "There, Pansy," I would say, as I fiddled with the hem of her nightgown, arranging it so I might afford myself one last glimpse of her tender ankle before drawing up the covers around her. She was a restless sleeper, I discovered -- for, indeed, it was my duty as a father to check on the children as they slept, to ensure their safety in slumber -- and I'd find her asleep on top of her covers, limbs akimbo, her nightgown twisted up around her coltish, nubile thighs. I'd watch her -- always from the safety of my son's footboards, mind, lest my wife wander in; I could shift my gaze quickly -- and admire her wickedness. Even sleep held for her a beguiling agenda.

No, my son was not the one to see her first. It was I who watched her from the shadows like a panther sighting its prey might do, its restless, magnificent tail swishing silently in anticipation.

\- - -

  


  
_Caterpillar_   


  


  
_   
**3**   
_   


The children were twelve the year I was partnered with her father, Charles Parkinson. Word had come from the Dark Lord's rat servant that another duty called.

We shortly found ourselves slogging through the marshes of Ballaugh Curraghs in search of the Manticore's _Amanitas_, a rare and wild mushroom that grew only upon the ground where a Manticore had been slain, and while it was difficult to pinpoint exactly where such a beast had been felled, lore told of the Manticore Wars of 1489 here in this very area.

"Ah, Lucius," Parkinson said jovially, trying to allay the drudgery. "You know the saying: _There are old mushroom hunters, and there are bold mushroom hunters, but there are no old, bold mushroom hunters_."

"Indeed." I paused to dislodge my boot from a sucking vortex of black mud. "Did you think of that on your own, or did you read it somewhere?"

"Can't say that I remember," he said. "Been with me for a while, you know. My grandfather was an avid mushroom hunter. Perhaps it was he who first planted the ditty."

We forged on, struggling through the deep mud, our arms swinging scythe-like for balance. "So, Charles," I said, slightly winded from our efforts, "have you heard? Our Draco's been made Seeker for Slytherin this year."

"Why, exceptional news! How'd he manage it, what with the older Warrington boy in the running?"

I resented Parkinson's implied dispersion. "While the Warrington boy is talented," I drawled, my teeth set, "he is set to leave Hogwarts after this school year. Draco brings not only skill to the team, but also longevity to the position." How dare he suggest my son unworthy of the appointment!

"Well, our team's bound for glory, then, isn't it? I often enjoy watching Draco fly with my Pansy out behind the house in the fields there. His is a raw talent, I say. But powerful." Parkinson peered at me then. "Why did you yourself never play Quidditch at Hogwarts, Lucius?"

I was woefully unathletic except in spirit, and a cold, licking flame of anger ignited in my gut at his intrusive questions. I fumbled for an easy gloss-over, but just then was saved when a spot of red caught my eye. I turned toward the gleam and spotted a crimson cluster of the elusive _Amanitas_ nestled at the foot of a towering ash tree, its bark shaded with moss. "Look, Parkinson! A Manticore died in that spot." I hung back when he came to attention and hurried forth. He knelt, his knees sinking into the spongy earth, and he brandished his wand expertly and uttered a harvesting spell. One by one the devilish mushrooms plucked themselves from the ground and piled into the bag he had set out beside him. I watched, silent, as he attended to our task, until the sack was bursting.

"There," Parkinson said, satisfied. "Just let me bind them up."

"Take your time," I said generously. "So, how is your Pansy, then?"

"She's our delight," he said, busy. "Her marks are excellent so far, and while she struggles slightly in Potions, Snape assures us she will catch up once she gets the feeling for the larger cauldron. She's stellar with Charms and Transfiguration." He stood, sack in hand. "She gets along nicely with her friends. Mary-Margarethe and I hope she'll be made prefect her fifth year. Really, I am undeserving of such a wonderful daughter . . . " He looked at me queerly then, and to this day I remain unsure as to whether he experienced a premonition at that exact moment, my actions foreshadowed to him even before the impulse had bloomed fully in my own mind. But how could I ignore the prophetic signs presenting themselves to me? For, as Charles Parkinson plucked the mushrooms, an iridescent blue butterfly had floated down to where we stood, upon a filtered, hazy trail of light that leaked through the dense forest canopy. It was a sign -- a sign! -- and I knew I had to act. But how? Then, suddenly I knew what the butterfly meant. I was enlightened! I pulled my wand and advanced.

"I agree," I said, quite unremarkably. "You are undeserving. _AVADA KEDAVRA_!" A jet of green light flashed, which was followed by a laconic afterhush. There came a slight splashing sound when his body fell forward, and he landed with his eyes wide open. I watched nonplussed as the brackish water trapped amongst the gnarled roots of the ancient ash seeped into his surprised mouth and pooled silently in the pouch of his cheek.

"_Deletrius_," I incanted, at once banishing the record of my misdeed, and then grabbed up the sack of mushrooms and secured it in my belt. The Dark Lord would be very displeased to lose as solid and loyal a follower as Parkinson. However, these things at times simply cannot be helped.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**4**   
_   


It rained the day Charles Parkinson was buried and I took delight in the dark banality of this somber cliche. Pansy's mother Mary-Margarethe, wracked with grief, clung to my wife's arm for support, rocking slightly as she whispered nonsensical words about her poor, dead husband. I stood on the other side of her -- it was ever so good of us to show our support for this poor woman, was it not? When I felt the soft puff of Pansy's mittened hand slip into my own gloved palm, triumph coursed through me.

Turning, I whispered to her, as her father's casket began its slow, creaky descent into the ground. "Whilst your father was a good and important man," I said, my eyes devouring her from head to toe, "you mustn't feel you are alone, Pansy. Why, you've me." I gave her small hand a squeeze, for emphasis. She nodded, her eyes dry, but reflective of the damage I had wrought. "I shall be a father to you in a _different_ way." I gave pause, to allow my magnanimous statement to take root. "Should you like that?"

"Yes," she said, but while glancing downward. Had I not been so enamoured, I might have detected her perfunctory tone.

"Good, then!" I was still whispering, although her mother's wailing likely sheltered my words from trained ears. And, with that, I set about planning -- planning, my friends!

\- - -

  


  
_Wing Development_   


  


  
_   
**5**   
_   


"Lucius," my fine wife asked me one morning, "do you feel it's still proper for Pansy to sleep in Draco's room when she stays over?"

"Why would it not be?" The children were now fifteen.

"Come now," she said, looking at me slyly. "You remember us at their age, surely?"

"You were curious," I said, reaching to cover her hand with my own. Oh, she was a magnificent partner -- sharp as an executioner's axe, witty, an impeccable hostess, a wonderful mother. Her beauty was the kind that grew more refined with age; her loveliness was almost painful to behold. Oh, no, I have no complaints of my marriage. Yet! I must play my cards carefully here, lest she suspect my prurient intentions, for I shall make no false protestations -- I believe I anticipated these nights more than the children did. I never prompted my son to issue the invitation, but always waited for the idea to occur to him naturally. Occasionally, I would object, stating that it wasn't a good night for guests, that I, or Narcissa, had important business the next morning, for which we must rise early. _It wouldn't be right_, I would say, _to leave two underage youths unattended. These days, one couldn't be too careful_. They remained in the dark, unaware that my glorious showcase of a home was as dangerous as any uncharted territory or unfinished hideaway. "You were curious, indeed." I rose and rounded the table to place an affectionate kiss at her crown, fondly stroking her shoulder.

"Draco and Pansy--"

"Are also curious, likely," I interjected.

"And you're not concerned?"

Concern was perhaps the wrong adjective. "Of course I'm concerned," I said. "I don't mean to sound dismissive. If it should please you, you should instruct them not to share Draco's bedroom any longer. Pansy would enjoy one of our guestrooms, I expect."

My wife summoned our house-elf, whose name I could never recall. "Clear the dishes, Anna," she commanded efficiently, and the properly cowed creature set about its task immediately. Narcissa continued our conversation. "My fear, though, is if I bring the subject of, well, _curiosity_ to Draco, that it might fuel exactly that which we're hoping to avoid. What if mere discussion leads to activity, Lucius? If we bring up the matter with them, won't they be spurred to experiment?"

I chuckled. "I suspect they will experiment regardless. Why, who knows if they even fancy each other that way? They're practically siblings." The thought sent a delicious thrill down my spine.

"Oh, they fancy each other."

This was news. "And you know this how?"

"Some robes I'd ordered for him arrived by owl, so I took them to him in his room," Narcissa said. "I admit I didn't knock. When I went into his room they were kissing."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" How interesting.

"Well, to be honest, Pansy seemed flustered by it." She smiled wryly, as if surprised anyone might not automatically welcome the amorous overtures of her wonderful son. "I got the impression she was nervous."

"See, then? We've nothing to fear. It's quite natural for a boy to gravitate toward the familiar when he starts . . . being curious."

"Perhaps you're right," my wife conceded. "You yourself were once a boy, after all. Yet, I don't want to be one of those parents who chooses to remain ignorant of her child's sexual development. Nor, though, do I want to suggest I approve of Draco and Pansy engaging in mature activities." She sighed. "It is unfortunate the body grows faster than the mind."

Unfortunate for others, perhaps. "I completely agree," I said. "I shall speak to Draco immediately."

Narcissa smiled. "Thank you, Lucius. I think it would be best coming from you, his father."

"Again, I agree."

She swept past me then, intent on starting her day. "I have a League meeting at eleven. Let me know how your talk with Draco goes, yes?"

"Of course I will." I watched her go.

The next week I reported to her that our son and I had held a very productive, father-to-son conversation, and that Draco was now thoroughly well-versed in propriety and seemliness -- and, as double assurance, he was now privy to a comprehensive list of protective charms and potions, if you understand my meaning. However, I must admit I exaggerated my accomplished deed, for in actuality I had merely slipped a dull, educational publication, hidden chastely within a plain book jacket, under Draco's pillow. I spoke nary a word of warning to my son of curiosity or lust, or of Pansy of the Prussian, seductive eyes.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**6**   
_   


I often made it my habit to prowl the house at night, and this was true even more so than usual during the Christmas season. I am not a man immune to simple pleasures -- I, too, could be lured in by the pleasing aesthetic value of a fully trimmed Christmas tree. My lovely wife had imbibed in one brandy too many and had fallen into a stuporous sleep just as I was kissing and nipping about the smooth plane of her belly. Alas! So, that Christmas night I found myself meandering, restless and aroused, clothed only in my classic man's nightgown, leaded snifter in hand, my breath heavy with brandy. I led myself to the spacious sitting room where my Narcissa's impeccable decor set perfectly the scene to come. There, I found my children entwined in a passionate embrace, next to the dipping branches of the Christmas tree, opened packages and shiny objects scattered in the wake of their lust. I remained in shadow, silent and riveted.

I imagined with gusto the route of Pansy's traversing hands. Draco's clothes were fully undone and her thigh was trapped firmly between his legs as he frotted against her, and I felt my own cock tumesce and grow hard as my excitement burgeoned unabashedly. Ah, the vicarious joy of their youth. Their unlearned, sensual fumblings! Their thrill of discovering, finally, that which we all long for from birth. The joy of putting a name to the face that is desire. I had waited so long for their moment. So long.

Their tongues were a swirling pink tangle, and I wondered where her nimble fingers were then. Had they encircled my son's youthful erection? No, impossible, for Draco was pressed too tightly against her, and I could see the slender length of her forearm disappearing down the back of his undone trousers. I could hardly contain my arousal as I imagined her hand stroking Draco, imagined her drawing a finger down the cleft of his buttocks to circle against the tight, puckered ring of his arse -- but, no! That was far too advanced and distasteful a manouevre for a girl of her limited experience. However, her hand was delving far enough that I thought surely it had dipped below the slight curve of my son's backside. Draco's breath came jaggedly, and I could imagine the scent of her sweet breath, warm and muggy against the hollow of his throat as he circled and thrust against her. Was she tickling the thick base of his erection? Did she caress his tender sac, squeezing and kneading him in just the right way?

"Pansy?" Draco's voice broke. "_Stop_, or I'm going to--"

"Do it," she said, heady with arousal. "I want to make you feel good . . . "

_Yes_! I thought silently, mentally urging them on. _Spread your wings_! _Seize fiercely your metamorphosis_!

My son bit into the lush fruit of her lips as he tightened his arms around her back and squeezed her tightly. He groaned into her mouth, quivering as his cock flooded his boxers. Pansy pulled her leg free, in the process allowing me the slightest, the most perfect glimpse of her simple white knickers.

It was all too much! My senses exploded, an unexpected cold energy pulsing through my core, and then I felt the surprising hot patter of my own come as it pulsed onto the carpet. My flood tide sullied the tops of my house shoes as my climax unspooled, astonishing and sublime even without the benefit of touch. In my hands I still gripped my brandy and decanter. It was a breathtaking moment, full and rich like that from an especially favoured erotic dream.

After my senses returned, I sought my escape, only to be brought up short by the unmistakable yellow glow of our house-elf's eyes. So, I was not the only creature lurking here, hidden within the shadows. "Annie," I commanded, whispering as I knelt to grasp her shoulders. "Annie, I command you to never say a word to Mistress Narcissa of what has transpired here tonight. She need not know. Do you understand?" I spoke coldly and without thought to the house-elf's position at all. "You are never to speak of our private matters to anyone. I forbid you to speak to your Mistress of any private matters."

The elf nodded vigourously, its ugly, frightened face bobbing like a shrunken Witchdoctor's head. "Anna understands, sir. Anna shall not speak of private matters to Mistress Narcissa, even though private matters takes place in Mistress's own house, and Mistress would want Anna to tell her--"

I caught the unfortunate creature by the neck, my thumb and forefinger easily encircling its throat, and it was like pinching into a round of soft cheese as I hissed, "You dare to disobey me, you worthless creature?" The tiny house-elf struggled, its face growing purple for lack of breath. I thrust it away from me, smiling mirthlessly as it crumpled to the ground. "You have your orders," I reminded the creature, who was now coughing and wheezing pathetically. "Clean up this mess," I ordered, as I left the sanctuary of my unexpected hiding place. "And when you're finished? Clutch in each hand a hot coal from the fire, for your impudence."

\- - -

  


  
_Pupa_   


  


  
_   
**7**   
_   


While my two years spent in Azkaban were less than comfortable, and not just slightly unexpected, I found it to be a respite of sorts from the day-to-day tedium of service to the Dark Lord. When it came I did not object to the detainer. Indeed, it is few men who find themselves under the supervision of such an exacting superiour as my Lord. Frankly, I was bored with my post, unfulfilled. While I shall not dissect the reasons behind my servitude today, dear reader, suffice it to say the Dark Lord and I . . . well, we grew apart. I shall leave it at that.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**8**   
_   


My son, my son! My beautiful, fine son. Upon the death of the Dark Lord, my noble, brave boy emerged from hiding, his flower once again at his side. We spoke not of his youthful foible atop the tower at Hogwarts that fateful June night; he did not appear to be broken. Yet, I know such matters are often consulted upon privately, only within the prison of one's mind. It was with this supposition in mind that I laid further my plan.

"Draco," I said one evening, enjoying my post-prandial port. "Why not treat yourself to a fine birthday celebration this year? We've had a rough go of it these past years. Should you not like to celebrate?" I took care to leave the bottle atop the cabinet with a casual indifference suggesting I might be planning on a second glass later that night. I had always made a great show of protecting my children from the evils of alcohol before they were of proper age and comportment. My planning was exquisite, my friends. It was nothing for me to wait years for a single chapter to impeccably unfold, and I was a man of multiple, ongoing chapters. Like any good writer should be. I laid aside the newly opened bottle of port, saved now for ten years -- saved for this time, this particular opportunity. It was spring again and my son's birthday was mere days away. I stepped away from my liquor cabinet, leaving the port deliberately unattended.

"Well?" I asked, enquiring again when my son failed to respond. He was so often lost in thought these days. "Wouldn't you like to celebrate your birthday?"

"I don't know," Draco said, unmoved. "I hadn't really thought about it."

"Why do you not think of yourself, Draco?"

He merely shrugged.

"Then, think of Pansy," I suggested. "She so very much wishes to see you happy again. Where is the cheek, son, which we all know so well?"

Draco looked at me then, a variety of emotion there in his eyes, and I immediately sensed his inner struggle. He thought me a fool, knowing quite rightfully that nothing would ever be the same for him -- that when he let his arm waver and dip that night at Hogwarts he had forever given up claim to his childhood, his innocence, his inculpability. Yet, there was his other voice, the petulant child's, urging him to reclaim the refuge within the safety of his father's enormous shadow, just as he had always been wont to do.

"When your mother turned eighteen," I continued, with the warm tone of a storyteller, "I took her to a wonderful dinner in London. The restaurant was so expensive, we couldn't afford wine service! It was the only damper on an otherwise perfect evening. Anyhow, we had a most splendid time, if you understand my meaning." I winked and my son rolled his eyes, put off by any suggestion of his mother and myself sharing any kind of dalliance. "Of course I'm not suggesting you and Pansy should engage in sordid behaviour. Only that she would probably like your attention. If you cannot find any enthusiasm for your own birthday, perhaps you can muster some for hers."

He nodded, eyes downcast as he picked at a pill on his trousers. When he looked up his eyes stared right past me, fixing, presumably, on the bottle of port just behind me. "I suppose."

I turned then, and recapped the bottle, silently incanting a wordless echoing charm. My wife's lilting voice sounded, as if coming from another part of the house. "Lucius? Can you help me with a portrait?"

"Of course," I answered, knowing full well my Narcissa was in the library with Annie. "I'll be right there." I turned to my son. "Draco, finish putting away the port for me. It's an exceptionally fine brand and I shouldn't want it to over-breathe." I gave a well-timed chuckle, again recalling the idea of celebration. "In fact, I do believe this is the very kind your mother and I had for her birthday, those many years ago." I put my glass aside. "Anyhow, think about what I've said."

\- - -

  


  
_   
**9**   
_   


Later that night, after Draco had long fallen asleep, I inventoried my liquor cabinet thoroughly, and was pleased to find the port I had trusted to his care was not amongst the many bottles found therein. As expected, he had taken my bait.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**10**   
_   


I helped my son select a restaurant amongst London's finest -- a French restaurant, Taillevent Nox, for those interested -- knowing very well the patrons and staff of that particular establishment would never tolerate the exhausting adolescent antics that would undoubtedly unfold -- I was perfect in my planning, allowing for every possible contingency. When the night finally came, Pansy was ravishing in her beautiful dressrobes, the silken organza fabric alluring and alive with its vibrant blue stars and winding,shrouded in shimmering lanes of stardust, and my son was equally regal in his own robes. Pansy's birthday fell on a Saturday, one day after Draco's, which was perfect for two reasons: One, my wife had a standing social engagement on Saturdays, where she and a group of friends engaged in quiet card play or discussed popular novels and current events. Second . . . well, I shall save my second reason for a later revelation.

With a _crack_ they Apparated from our estate to London. I allowed a full two minutes to pass before Apparating after them. Disguising myself with a simple glamour, I made my appearance at the restaurant in question, lingering in the background after giving my pseudonym to the ma�tre'd. Seated across the room from my children, I dined on _escargots a la bourguignonne_ paired with an excellent cut of beef and arugula tossed in fresh lemon juice served with grilled prawns and asiago shavings. I observed Draco's clumsy slight of hand as he poured my stolen port surreptitiously under the table, disguising his folly within the innocent confines of two juice glasses, the original dual servings of fizzy beverage long gone. For every sip my darling Pansy took, my son had three or four. Things were progressing most excellently indeed.

They whispered, they laughed, they grew pink in the cheek together, their half-eaten dinners soon cold on their plates. The ambient lighting of the place offered them a small semblance of privacy. The tables were perfectly placed, neither too close nor too far apart. Under the increasing influence of my stellar port, they may as well have been alone, as little as they cared for those around them. Their kisses grew more intimate, although they still made some attempt at propriety by first glancing about to see if they were being observed before again attempting to devour the other. It wasn't long before Pansy had curled into my son's side cosily. Her hand snaked down the front of his trousers, hidden behind the folds of the tablecloth.

I imagined the fine muscles on the top of her forearm working rhythmically as her fingers caressed the fabric-covered length of Draco's cock. He leaned into her, settling his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes as he tried to control his outward response.

Glorious! I stood, knowing my moment was yet to come. I emptied my purse onto the table, grossly overpaying, and thanked the front of the house with a genteel nod and a smile, and then I made my escape into the night, discarding my glamour as I went.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**11**   
_   


I had not been home but twenty minutes when the call came from Taillevent Nox.

I arranged my features to reflect neutral surprise.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," the ma�tre'd's voice said, breaking through the silence of my sitting room via my fire. "I regret the intrusion. However, we've a situation here that requires your attention."

"Oh?" I enquired, my brows furrowing. "Whatever could be wrong?"

"It's your son Draco, I'm afraid. It appears he's had too much to drink, which is _most_ odd," he said, his voice taking on an oily, passive-aggressive tone of annoyance, "seeing as his cheque reflects no wine order."

"How very strange indeed!" I said, rising from my chair. I laid aside my book. "Shall I come collect him, then?"

"If you would."

"I am on my way." My heart sang as the ma�tre'd's face disappeared from the flickering flame -- it was _too_ perfect! Surely, it was meant to be, right? Surely, it must have been meant to be, just as I had come to believe over my many years of lying in wait. The signs were all there, what with Pansy's ethereal blue dressrobes the exact colour of her wayward butterflies.

\- - -

  


  
_   
**12**   
_   


After another twenty minutes, and after I had pressed handfuls of Galleons into the restaurant staff's eager palms, I had collected my drunken son and his silly, intoxicated date. She clung to my arm as I discreetly levitated Draco through the kitchens of Taillevent Nox, a gaggle of house elves fleeing in the wake of my approaching shadow.

"We just wanted to have a spot of fun," Pansy gurgled happily, stumbling sideways. "I guess Draco had too much."

"Draco isn't the only one," I said, adopting my most severe tone. "You must promise to never, ever do this again, Pansy! I shan't have the Malfoy name disparaged amongst the restaurateurs. You should consider the same caution for your own reputation."

"Oh," she said, immediately recalcitrant. She looked up at me through lush, sooty lashes. "I'm sorry!"

"See that you are," I commanded coldly. "This is unforgivably shameful." Draco bobbed uselessly ahead of us as I directed him with my wand. We made our way to a quiet alley. "Now, how to get home?" I mused. "Normally, I'd Apparate both of you home, but, as you know, it can be risky to Apparate another person without that person's express consent. Draco could be Splinched." She gasped at the thought of her beloved exploding into fragments of pale nothingness. "No," I drawled, "I shall complete tonight's lesson, and teach you what happens when you overindulge." With this, I drew out my wand and held out my arm. The look of horror on Pansy's face as the towering, violently purple monstrosity that is the Knight Bus careened toward us was alone worth my entire endeavour. "After you," I said grandly, as the bus's purple doors flapped open with a creaking, hydraulic hiss. "Behold, the last resort that is known fondly as mass transit." Draco flung over my shoulder, I prodded her in the arse with my wand, forcing her to clamber up the narrow stairs of the bus, complaining and protesting the entire way.

I delivered exactly thirty-three sickles to the conductor, and we made our way down the aisle. The bus was, as I knew it would be, packed to overflowing with other travelers in exactly the same predicament as my poor son. I had known -- my second reason now revealed -- that a Saturday night would find the Knight Bus very busy indeed, as it delivered the pissed-as-newts hear and there, which would mean a long, drawn-out, bumbling ride to Wiltshire. I deposited Draco into a free seat next to another wizard who reeked of Firewhiskey; Draco slowly slumped sideways in his seat and began to snore against the stranger's shoulder. Pansy and I took the seat immediately behind him, the last available without having to resort to the upper stories, all the way in the back. We crammed ourselves into a two-seater already occupied by a corpulent witch, whose head was thrown back against the rear wall of the bus. She was snoring with such gusto that the hairs on her chin bent and rose with the draw of her breath, like waves of grass on a moor.

"Vile!" Pansy sniffed, her shoulder forced into a forward hunch as the bus lurched dangerously and then sped forward at breakneck speed. "She smells!"

"Doesn't she, though?" I agreed, basking in Pansy's discomfort.

"I thought this thing was supposed to have beds and easy chairs!" she grumped, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she looked about.

"Ah, yes," I clarified gleefully. "But, not on a Saturday! The Knight Bus reverts to row seating on Saturdays, due to all the drunken louts needing transportation -- such as you two." I raised a knowing eyebrow at her.

"I have to pee!" she whined uncouthly.

"How unfortunate. The ride's just begun."

"I should have gone back at the restaurant," she glowered.

She pressed against my side as the bus took a sharp left. I took her hand for leverage. "Tell me about the restaurant," I cajoled quietly, drawing her hand upward, the scent of my son on her hand wafting gently against my nostrils. "What possessed you to misbehave so blatantly?" She turned her drunken gaze on me, holding my eyes steadily. "Where did you get the alcohol?"

"I don't know," she said, pulling her hand back. I tightened my grip. "Draco brought it!"

"So, the two of you decided to get pissed. Why?" I pressed the tips of her fingers against my mouth, my lips curling under their touch with the slightest of smiles. "Were you planning something extraordinary?"

She flushed slightly, and the bus heaved to the right. Pansy was crushed against me as the fat witch beside us swayed accordingly, and she let out a yelp. "I get it!" she groused petulantly. "You've made the point! Please, let's get off this wretched thing and just Apparate home."

"You would leave Draco behind? Or risk him being Splinched? How unkind of you, Pansy." I let go of her hand and twisted sideways slightly, putting my hands to her waist. "I shall not be so cruel, though. Here." I helped her onto my lap, jerking her against me so tightly that I knew she would feel the iron length of my erect cock against her arse. "This will be much better."

Surprised, she turned to look at me, but she did not protest -- it was a fatal mistake on her part. I buried my fists in the floating panels of organza, squeezing her hips as I pressed my chest against her back. The bus lurched again, and she was thrown forward slightly. Instinctively she touched her toes to the floor of the bus and braced herself, and clutched tightly at my knees. "What are you doing?" she giggled drunkenly. "You shouldn't be doing that!"

Her wings were still wet indeed, and here was I, the predator, at full advantage! "Here you are, the naughty one, telling me what I should or shouldn't do." I tutted reprovingly. I changed my grip, sliding my hands along the tops of her thighs. The elastic of her knickers was quite discernible through the delicate fabric of her robes under the seeking tips of my fingers. Oh, her warmth -- how it radiated! She was glorious and pure and youthful. I pressed her down again, crushing her arse against my cock, and I made no attempt to hide my desire for her. In fact, I couldn't stop myself from groaning as I rubbed my cock against her, through the painful folds of my clothing. "Yes, you are the villain here," I said, my tone low and silky, shocked that she had not yet pulled away. "I believe I know the tale of your evening. Shall I tell it?" I thought I felt her shift slightly then, thought I felt her press back against me ever so slightly. My breath quickened.

"Draco snuck a bottle of . . . hmm, let me see--" I nuzzled at her jaw and pressed my mouth against the corner of her lips, breathing in deeply. "Was it brandy? Or was it port? Which was it, Pansy?" I lifted a finger to her lips, silencing her before she could speak. "Draco snuck a bottle of liquor into the restaurant, perhaps because he hadn't saved enough of his spending money to afford decent wine service. No matter, though. Fiscal prudence is certainly a learnt skill." Letting my hand drop, I bunched the front of her robes up over her thighs with practised ease and I reached right for her centre. I steadied myself, my fingers splayed over her belly. "You've had too much to drink, haven't you?"

She nodded silently, biting her lip, unfulfilled desire from the evening's earlier escapade obviously still coursing within her, invigourated by my words in her ear. Oh, she was torn! She knew very well it was wrong for her to be perched upon the hard cock of her one true love's father, wriggling and shifting wantonly like she was. However, such a flame once ignited is never easily quelled.

I whispered into her ear so quietly, it might have been a dream. "May I touch you?"

"I--" Her breath was rapid and sweet.

"No one would ever know," I promised her, stroking upward, her tiny ambiguous flutters playing under my touch. "Are you feeling unfinished, Pansy?" She looked at me questioningly, unsure of my inquiry. I rolled her nipple between my thumb and forefinger then, right through the fabric of her robes, and my balls tightened ominously at the sensation. I must pace myself carefully. Viciously, I clamped down on her nipple until she squealed and writhed, and tossed her head backward. "Sorry," I lied, barely able to contain the hair-trigger orgasm threatening to spill. "You and Draco were ill-behaved in the restaurant, weren't you? Did you touch him, under the table?"

"How would you know that?" she protested breathlessly.

"I was informed of your antics," I lied, certainly unwilling to admit I had watched their inobtrusive tryst. "Tell me, Pansy, when you were tossing my son off in the restaurant, did you actually undo his trousers? Did you pull him out, right there in the middle of it all?" My words were sharp, pointed, driving home the shared secret. She made some noise of assent. "Show me how you did it," I ordered, taking hold of her hand again.

"Mmm, God, I _really_ have to use the loo," she protested, wriggling. "Can't we--"

"No," I said, cupping her breast fully. I nudged aside her hair at the back of her neck with my nose and pressed my lips against the gentle curve of her shoulder until she shivered. "You'll just have to suffer. _Show me how you did it_!" She made a noise, protesting, and shook her head. I was mildly annoyed. "Fine," I said, ultimately allowing her the pass. "Then, I shall tell you. You leaned into Draco, as if merely cuddling up. You let your hand drop into his lap and you touched him through his trousers." She was still leaning against me, her head tipped back against my shoulder. Again I reached for her robes and began pulling them forward, pulling them up. "You must have had to have made the decision whether or not you were going to toss him off rather quickly, because once a man is hard, it's difficult to get the trousers properly undone, isn't it? Did Draco help you undo his trousers, Pansy? Right there in the restaurant?"

The Knight Bus screeched to a stop, pitching us forward again. The witch beside us snorted and gasped, and then shifted back into sleep.

"Did the thought of making Draco come in public excite you?" I continued, once we had regained our bearings. She made another noise, and I slid her robes up over the tops of her thighs, all the while rubbing and caressing her gently. She was so pale, so pristine! "You will be an excellent lover when you're grown, what with your already exotic tastes."

"I am grown." She said it so seriously, I was forced to attention.

"So you are," I said slowly. "Which is why I know how frustrated you must feel right now." Again, I brought her hand up and inhaled deeply. "You made him come, didn't you? You made him come, and what happened? He passed out, sated! But, you're not sated, are you? No, your not even close." My words curled insidiously into her ear. "Let me help you, then." My fingers were thrumming against her knickers, stroking her hidden cunt, and a few brushes across the thin material left no doubt that she was aroused and wet and hot. "You are so ready . . . so ready!"

"I can't!"

"You can."

"Draco would never forgive me," she whispered, almost tearfully, while I basked in the glow of her body's betrayal.

"I'm excellent with memory charms," I whispered in return, deftly sliding a finger under the band of her knickers and stroking gently down the soft cleft of her wet slit, giving her an anticipatory taste. "It's settled then," I said, when she writhed in protest, but did not object aloud. "I shall wipe clean your memory -- if you request it." I sucked in my breath. "Oh, you are so beautiful!" I nipped at her neck as I stroked her softly, gently. She was so lovely, so heady -- a vision of perfection. I had waited so long to feel her!

"I really need the bathroom!" she whispered fiercely. "I'm not having you on!"

"You will control yourself," I said, once again commanding her. "We can use your predicament to your advantage. Let me bring you off -- it will keep you from being able to empty your bladder long enough for us to make it home." I slid my fingertips over her slick clit, circling there until she groaned. "Don't think about it," I said soothingly. "You're in control of yourself. You wouldn't shame yourself like that. Not here, not with me." Her breathing calmed and I explored her petal-soft folds, slick with her desire. She smelt of pure lust, unsullied by any other impurities, and I shortly knew that I had to have her, had to _fuck_ her. I hadn't planned on that, really. I slid lower in my seat until my knees were wedged against the back of Draco's seat. "Lift up," I ordered her, withdrawing my hand. She protested, but leaned forward, looking back at me so wantonly that I feared for my goal. Hastily I undid my trousers and released my cock, pushing my clothes down just far enough that she could access me, and then I divested her of her knickers. Roughly I pulled her back down onto me; she sat, and I practically ripped at the tangle of delicate robes floating wildly around her. I pawed my way through them until my turgid erection pushed up between her spread thighs and brushed against her hot, wet cunt. The tip of my cock caught against her clit, against the soft folds of her core.

"This is wrong," she slurred, fisting her hands in her robes, her head lolling back drunkenly. "Wrong, wrong, wrong -- _Oh_!" She sighed as I reached beneath her skirts and pressed the tip of my cock against her clit.

"Move!" I hissed, wriggling impatiently against her. "You can't stand it anymore." I projected my own feelings onto her with a harsh bark, and the breath caught in my throat as she moved tentatively against me, my hot erection sliding and rubbing against her wildly. "Touch me!" I grabbed her hand and wrenched it downward to replace my own, biting down on my bottom lip to keep from crying out in ecstasy when her warm fingers curled around my cock, and pumped my shaft, beautifully slick from the wetness of her arousal. I imagined her touching Draco as she was now fondling me, her plying his orgasm from his depths. "Tell me when you're close," I said. "I've got something better to show you."

Her hair tumbled and swung and the scent of our encounter distinctly permeated the air. We rubbed and fondled and caressed one another as the bus made stop after stop, letting off drunken sod one after another, and it was just before Wiltshire that her breath quickened and her movements became more abandoned and wanton. I reclaimed my cock and guided it toward her center, slipping and sliding, looking for completion. "Don't!" I said. "Not yet. I need to be inside you." I slicked up my length again, unable to resist stroking the spongy head several times -- this was a mistake. I could feel my orgasm springing.

"No!" she shook her head.

"Why not?" I said, through gritted teeth, willing my senses to obey.

"Because I only want to do that with Draco," she admitted, writhing against me impatiently. It was the final straw, a surprising revelation.

"You haven't already?"

"No," she said, pleading.

"Then we shall compromise, my dear, for it's too late to turn back now." I pushed her up then, until she was leaning forward, and I sat up. Reaching from behind I swirled my fingers in the honeyed, wet mess of her cunt and rubbed backward until I felt the pink ring of her arse under my fingertips.

"No!" she cried, alarmed as I probed there.

"Oh, yes." I eased the tip of my cock into her arse. It was hot and exquisite and I wouldn't stop there. "This is a reasonable compromise," I said, and I grabbed onto her hips and viciously pulled her down onto me, burying my cock in her beautiful, virgin arse. As my taut sac brushed against her flesh, a shiver burst from my core and I felt my orgasm spring. I came immediately, stifling a cry and biting down so hard the tang of my own fine blood spread over my tongue. I managed several shaky thrusts as I emptied myself into her, imagining great, thick spurts of my come coating her insides, although I knew this particular vision was mere blue fantasy.

She drew in her breath so sharply I heard a surprised whistle. "I'm going to be sick!" she managed, gagging slightly. Her face was ashen and wan and a dewy sheen of perspiration erupted at her hairline. I petted her gently, stroking at her arms, and I whispered soft words of comfort to her. I raked my hands through her damp hair and kissed the back of her neck, which was now cooled from the physical shock of what I'd done.

"No, girl, you shall not be sick." I shushed her, soothing her until her flesh again grew warm under my plying touch. "How do you feel now?" I asked, after several minutes had gone by. My cock was still rock hard, buried inside her.

"Full," she rasped, still slurring from the port. "All full up."

Finer words couldn't have been spoken. With a growl I invaded her skirts for the final time and dipped my fingers into her once more. I stroked and rubbed at her clit until she was moving in time to my ministrations, and she couldn't contain her cry when I brought her off. She came hard, her cunt swollen and slick and divine, with such force that she milked my spent cock, even from the unlikely vantage. I waited until she had relaxed against me. "I shall leave it to you to get back to me with any need for _Obliviate_."

The Knight Bus lurched to a stop. "Wiltshire!" the conductor called out.

Pansy launched herself toward the door, pulling free of me with a slick _pop_, and stumbled up the aisle drunkenly with both hands clamped over her mouth, leaving her knickers abandoned at my feet. I trundled to my feet and lazily did up my trousers and I made no attempt to avoid the prying gaze of the conductor as I carefully rearranged my cock within my underwear. The corpulent witch fell sideways onto the seat as I collected my son. I shouldered him from the Knight Bus, giving the driver a stern once over as we disembarked. I remembered him from Azkaban. "Goodnight," I said loftily as I navigated Draco down the steps.

"Mr. Malfoy, sir," the pimpled youth said, his mouth twisting into a frown. Before my final step down from the bus was firmly set upon the ground, it disappeared with a screeching echo.

I left Draco in Annie's care and went in search of Pansy, locating her finally in one of the downstairs bathrooms. "Are you well, Pansy?" I enquired through the door.

"I still can't pee!" she complained loudly, her voice miserable.

"You should be able to soon." I chuckled, leaving her there to work through her need. I would see if she sought me out later for a memory-erasing charm.

\- - -

  


  
_Imago_   


  


  
_   
**13**   
_   


For a fortnight we remained ghost ships in the night, my Pansy and I. Nary a word was spoken between us beyond expected perfunctory greetings. I noted, with the fierce triumph of the pathologically entitled, that she did not seek me out for a memory charm, and the blush in her cheeks and her fleeting glances when we passed one another showed me she hadn't sought such a favour from anyone else. This only furthered my passion. In my interpretation, her not directly saying no only implied her expressed consent. I watched her constantly. She and Draco would play board games by the fire or read from the _Daily Prophet_ to each other at night, and their days were filled with revising and the occasional trip to Knockturn Alley. Neither had completed their education at Hogwarts, as their final year had been derailed by the events of the time. The Ministry was now offering an opportunity for such children as mine, caught up unexpectedly in the final throes of the Dark Lord's reign, to gain their full qualifications. Naturally, I encouraged them both in this ambition.

It was during one of their revising sessions that I looked up from my own reading and found Pansy's gaze fixed upon me, her eyes dark and hungry. I stared back at her until her cheeks reddened and she dipped her head, the sharp angle of her hair hiding her desire. My cock jumped to attention, so strong was my want for her. I had lately taken to the occasional surreptitious wank, a pastime I rarely indulged in, her name swirling darkly in my mouth as I jerked the seed from my loins.

I marked my place in my book. "I find myself peckish," I said, rising. "I believe a sandwich is in order."

"Father," Draco asked, not looking up from his studies. "Would you bring me some pumpkin juice when you come back?"

"Certainly." I stood, hands on hip. "And Pansy? What should you like to eat tonight?"

"Not pumpkin juice," she said, her eyes flicking to the obvious bulge in my trousers.

"If you're sure," I said, taking my time to exit the room. I made my way leisurely to our kitchen, which was underneath the main floor of the house. The corridors of my manor were silent as I went, and my footsteps fell unheard upon the Persian runners lining the way. My senses were heightened, as if the beautiful spectre of anticipation itself was there and breathing down the collar of my robes, and giving the fine hairs there cause to rise. At last I felt a hand brush the back of my robes and I whirled to find Pansy standing there, having followed me after all, her footsteps as hushed as my own. She looked up at me, fearless and ready.

"You came," I said, delighted. I swept her up, catching her in my arms, and I threaded my fingers into her hair and yanked her head back, my grip demanding and harsh. I filled her mouth with my tongue, walking her backward until the kitchen table rattled under the curve of her arse. She bit right back into me, pushing against my tongue with her own. It was a hot, sloppy, traitorous kiss. I set her upon the table with a satisfying thunk, the unwashed dishes from our dinner earlier that evening rattling from the force. "Oh!" I breathed the words shakily into her mouth. "Oh, how long I've waited for you, Pansy! Since the day you were born . . . "

She opened herself up, making room for my width between her thighs, her legs dangling off the table in a girlish, charming manner. Our mouths hit and missed in our fervour, and I unbuttoned her blouse with trembling fingers, barely able to contain my lust. "Take off your bra," I ordered her, once her blouse had become a discarded heap on the floor. I reached up and undid the front clasp with a practised twist of my fingers, and I ran my hand up her belly until one pert breast nestled perfectly within the curving expanse between my thumb and forefinger. I kneaded her lightly until she moaned, and then I circled my fingertips against the soft side of her. "Touch me!" I ordered sharply. "Undo my trousers."

"I--" She seemed at a loss for words, for, really, what would a girl of eighteen have to say that might interest a man of my age?

Alternately, I found myself with plenty to say to her. "Touch my cock, girl," I hissed, snaking my warm tongue around the delicate whorl of her ear as she fumbled with the front of my trousers. I couldn't help panting when her warm fingers finally closed around my throbbing erection and pulled it free from my shorts. Our lips met again as she stroked my length with a relatively firm touch, but our summit at hand was certainly not about her ability or experience -- it was about her destiny! This is what I told myself. "Are you ready to taste me?" I rasped, thrusting sharply through her clenched fist, and I smiled as her breath caught in her throat. My proposition was scandalous indeed. "You've tasted my son, yes?"

"Yes," she said, wiggling and writhing until she was practically sliding from the table; I felt the hot press of her centre against me. She reached around and dug her fingers into my backside just as I dropped my hand from her tit and caught the underside of her thigh. We moved together, grinding and moaning and sighing, until the crotch of her knickers was so wet it slipped and slid over the dark shadow of her engorged cunt. I reached under her skirt, feeling the desperate sting of unresolved tension burn its way up my cock as I pulled away from her heat. She helped me take off her knickers and then spread herself so wantonly under my gaze that I had to fight the urge that rose inside of me to bite the smooth, pale plane of her inner thigh until her blood ran down her stockings and pooled in her shoes. Why, I could have eaten her alive!

"Has Draco fucked you yet?" I asked crudely as I knelt in front of her. I rested one of my knees upon a small, house-elf sized stool, which gave me the perfect vantage. Pushing open her thighs I drew in my breath at the sight of her glistening pink folds nestled amongst her tight dark curls. I raised my eyes to her questioningly. "Well?"

"No," she said breathlessly, and leaned back onto the table bracing herself with her hands, and inadvertently knocking over a glass milk bottle filled with freshly cut honeyflower. She didn't fear my scrutiny at all. "_Hurry_!"

"Let him take you tonight," I instructed her. "For I'll not be holding off any longer with you, Pansy." And with that I pulled her roughly toward me until she squealed and fell back onto her elbows. A pile of soup bowls fell from the table and crashed onto the stone kitchen floor, shattering into pieces, and with a deft shrug I had my shoulder cradling the tender crook of her knee. I felt the heel of her shoe clunk against my back as I licked right into her wet, gorgeous cunt. Confidently I ran my tongue around the smooth, pastel lines of her beautiful folds.

"Oh _God_," she cried, immediately grinding back against the bold, learned strokes of my tongue. I laved at the engorged nub of her clit, circling the tip of my tongue expertly against the swollen flesh there, and I reveled in her fine, musky scent as her slick desire coated my chin and mouth. I slid two fingers inside her, my cock twitching in anticipation as I breached her tightness with my hand, and I let my ring finger caress the slight pucker of her arse lazily, as if delivering a lovely afterthought. I stroked and stroked, and circled my tongue against her until she was crying out and I felt the convulsing wave clench and squeeze at my fingers rhythmically as she came.

I gave her a moment to catch her breath before I pulled my hand free of her and rose to capture her mouth so she could taste herself on my tongue. I grabbed her face in my sticky grip and devoured her lips, thrusting my tongue into the warm, wet hollow of her mouth, establishing a rhythm of things yet to come. Still kissing, I pulled her from the table. "Get on your knees," I ordered, digging my fingers into her shoulder until she dropped in front of me, her chin bumping the tip of my cock as she went down. I widened my stance, stroking myself all the while, my strong, aristocratic fingers jerking the purple head. I squeezed several anticipatory drops from the slit there. "Touch my balls," I instructed her, as I ran the tip of my cock over her rosebud lips, and as her hand cupped me I pressed down on her chin with my thumb and eased myself into her mouth with short, shallow strokes. "Don't let go," I said, in ecstasy as her tentative, nimble fingers caressed my heavy sac.

She looked up at me then, her lush lips stretched around my erection, and I thrust vigourously, unable to hold off. The bulbous head of my cock stroked the soft groove of her palate as I fucked her mouth, my fingers wound tightly in her hair. "Oh, yes," I said, closing my eyes. The look on her face was just too much -- she would have me coming in seconds, I had no doubt. I felt her hand at my hip, steadying me, and while I was quite practised at maintaining my stamina, the fruition of our consummation was too erotic, too exciting to bear further. I thrust faster and faster, until her nose became buried within the tangle of fair hair around my cock, so deep was I within her throat. "Oh, Pansy, _yes_!" I cried out, and I am quite certain she felt the contracting pull of my balls as my orgasm rushed forth. She pulled away! "No, don't!" I said, in a strangled cry, startled by this disappointment. Scrabbling, I pumped my shaft furiously until hot, milky drops rained down, several of my wayward spurts catching her chin.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, startled.

Although I had already come, I hauled her up and bent her over the table and guided the head of my erection between her thighs. "Follow up with Draco tonight," I reminded her, gently wiping her chin clean with my hand. I pressed my still-hard cock into her slick, warm folds. I slid my arms around her, burrowing underneath her until I was cupping her breasts.

"_Oh_!" she said, bumping back against me as her cunt stretched around me. I tightened my embrace and kissed her shoulders and the side of her face, and I licked at the mess I'd left on her chin as I slowly buried myself in her centre. She gasped and I saw her fingertips curl helplessly against the hard surface of the butcher block, yet still she pushed back against me. "I never thought it would be you."

I fucked her leisurely from behind, my immediate lust temporarily curbed. Holding onto her hips I stood behind her, undulating, and a quick glance at my wet, shiny length gliding clean from her with each retracted thrust reassured me that I had not overly hurt her, at least not beyond the scope of the expected discomfort. There was only the slightest tinge of blood at first, which disappeared shortly, reclaimed by her young, eager body, and I held her tight against me and whispered my adoration into her ear and smoothed her brow until my spent member slipped free from her of its own accord -- oh, my sublime, deflowered girl!

\- - -

  


  
_   
**15**   
_   


My home affords me privileges those under my rule know not, and it was a simple matter for me to appear unseen in the deepest shadows of my son's large bedroom, and to remain hidden there as I observed my children's tentative fumblings.

"Is this right?" my son whispered. Pansy's lithe figure rose above him in the dark, silhouetted.

"I think so." I imagined Draco's fingers between her legs, trying his best to guide himself inside her. "There," she said with a sigh, discomfited noises sounding in the back of her throat as her breath caught there. She wiggled and strained until she was impaled on my son's rigid cock, the small keening noises she made hiding the discomfort she undoubtedly felt. She leaned forward and Draco caught her breasts in his hands and I saw the shadow of his hips as they rose from his bed, and he let loose a strangled cry of bliss. Slowly, she began rocking, adjusting as she went, until they established a clumsy rhythm.

Draco lasted a minute or so. "Mm, fuck, Pansy, _God_!" He thrust up into her as he came, sliding his hands down to clutch at her thighs. He groaned, disappointed. "Bloody hell," he bemoaned sheepishly. "I couldn't-- Are you all right?"

"Never better," Pansy whispered, betraying my reign at the head of her queue. She hugged my son to her tightly and laid her head upon his chest. Even in the dark I could see Draco's fingers dip into her hair, to play there affectionately.

"Right. So, that?" Draco said, his breath still uneven. "I want to do every minute of every day for the rest of my life."

_Draco is young_, I reminded myself, as I disintegrated amongst the shadows, leaving them alone to their tedious, puerile afterglow. As he matured, my son would learn to prioritise.

\- - -

  


  
_Flight_   


  


  
_   
**16**   
_   


We embarked on a passionate tour, my Pansy and I, finding fleeting moments for a hurried encounter, or arranging languid secret trysts in dusty, forgotten corners of my manor. I took her in every conceivable manner, ignoring the irritating scent of my son that lingered within every inch and pore of her. Come August, though, she became more coying, batting away my incessantly roving hands or turning away from my kisses. At times I grew harsh with her and demanded her attentions, which served only to exacerbate her disobedience. When I'd find her in a favourable mood, however, our encounters continued to fuel my overall libido. Narcissa commented freely on my constant state of arousal. I loved my wife, although at present I found myself entertaining another besides.

One mid-August morning we took breakfast in Narcissa's magnificent gardens, Draco and Pansy having inexplicably departed for London for the weekend. My wife had banished the house-elves to the kitchens and we were most assuredly alone amongst the roses and posies. My wife rode my cock, right there under the warm morning sun, and she fucked me expertly, fluidly, with the beautiful, easy comfort that comes with familiarity. My hands roamed freely over her stomach and breasts as she circled and writhed against me, her backside resting nicely against my own belly as her hands clutched at my legs for leverage. The reader will forgive me, but we all have our favoured positions. As my final climactic throes shuddered through me, my head fell back in ecstasy, and when I opened my eyes I found the skies were alive with the swarming lost butterflies of Trinidad.

"Narcissa, look," I said, reaching around to leisurely rub her clit. She relaxed against me, my cock still inside her, and tilted her head.

"Butterflies," she said, her breath catching. She moaned lightly as I coaxed her orgasm forth.

I held her against me, my arms tight around her. "The last time the butterflies came was when Draco and Pansy were born," I mused, unable to refrain from commenting.

"Yes," she said lazily, stroking my forearm. We sat like that for several quiet minutes before my wife spoke again. "I sent Pansy to London for the weekend, Lucius. And Draco, too."

"Did you now?" I said. "A little adventure for our little ones?"

Narcissa seemed troubled.

"What is it, love?" I asked, nuzzling at the fine line of her jaw just below her ear. I pressed a gentle kiss there.

"Pansy asked me for a potion," Narcissa said, continuing her languid caresses. "She's missed two cycles."

I do believe my cock inverted itself. "What?"

My wife stood then and reached for her robes, an unreadable expression on her face when she turned to face me. "She's missed two of her cycles," she repeated, catching my eye, "which is why the time has now come for you and Pansy to stop your coquetry."

My heart exploded in my chest, pounding away furiously. Would my beautiful, noble wife leave me? How could she know? Had my Pansy and I not been but the epitome of discretion? "Narcissa," I began weakly, rising from the marble bench where we'd just coupled. "I--"

"All I'm saying, Lucius, is that it's time for it to stop." She looked at me, a strange amalgamation of annoyance, compassion and triumph swimming in her eyes. "Yes, I know what you've done."

One thing my wife would never be is unclever. "How?" I rasped, not bothering to deny her accusation.

A smile played at her lips then. "Violet Bulstrode informed me of a most distasteful rumour that began circulating right after Draco's birthday," she said. "Apparently, the Knight Bus conductor Stan Shunpike was overheard at the Leaky Cauldron, right off his face, saying you and Pansy had--" she paused for a moment "--engaged in _relations_ on the Knight Bus."

"Well!" I said with a _tsk_. "You would believe that woman? Why, Violet Bulstrode isn't right in the head, Narcissa. You know that!"

"Of course I didn't believe _that_," my wife said haughtily, reheating our tea with a tap of her wand. "The Knight Bus? Of course it couldn't be true! What a vile, ridiculous notion."

"Exactly so!" I exclaimed, unable to resist mentally fluffing the laurels of my infallible plan. Lucius Malfoy _en flagrante_ in the rear of the Knight Bus? Never! I had been correct in my gamble that no one would ever believe such a tale, even if the tale were true.

"Tea?" Narcissa asked, gesturing at my empty cup.

"Please," I said, collecting my trousers. I pulled them on and then sat as she poured. "Do continue," I said, prompting her.

"It was Anna who alerted me," Narcissa said calmly.

"Anna?" I sneered. "I'll free her tomorrow."

"No, you will not free her tomorrow or ever," Narcissa said, her jaw set stubbornly. "For it is your own fault you were caught! Haven't I always instructed you on the importance of keeping the best interests of the house staff forefront at all times? Lucius, I thought we had addressed this problem of yours after you lost us Dobby."

"Regardless," I said, rolling my eyes. "A house-elf of mine should take my orders, as I am their master and this is my home!"

"You know it doesn't work that way. You of all people should know that when protecting a secret one must be very careful in the matter of instruction. Anna is loyal to me." My wife looked at me then. "She does not like being called 'Annie' -- it's not her name."

My mouth fell open in surprise.

"Yes, your misnomer allowed her to partially circumvent your order. Anna came to me," Narcissa said, fixing a calm, deliberate stare upon my stunned face, and she forced me to hold her gaze. "Just as Dobby went to _your_ mother those many years ago when I myself was eighteen. Dobby was loyal to your mother, Lucius, and he kept her well apprised of the state of her home."

Her words were like a fist to the gut as their implication blossomed.

"No!" I said, anger igniting within me. Had my cursed father still been alive, I would have killed him myself that day. "You can't be serious!"

"I was young," Narcissa said, with a shrug so dismissively refined it wrenched at my heart. "And have you not yourself always taken great pride in stressing to any who would listen of how perfectly you are Abraxas Malfoy's son? Why, you have proven yourself correct!"

I held my tea dumbly, at a total loss for words, and just then a Blue Morpho butterfly drifted down from the swarms overhead and alit upon the rim of my teacup. Savagely I grabbed at it, and squashed the docile creature dead within the crush of my fist.

"Well done, Lucius," Narcissa said, nodding her head affirmatively. "That's exactly right -- there shall be no more butterflies." She lifted a plate from the table, offering treats with a pleasant smile. "Biscuit?"

"No," I said dryly.

She selected one for herself before returning the biscuits to the table. "So, here we are," my wife said, crossing one leg at the knee as she considered me across the wrought iron table. She chewed her biscuit thoughtfully, and then washed it down with a delicate sip of her pekoe. "Pansy and Draco have gone to London with my detailed directions in hand to help them find the potion they seek -- should they actually need it, I should say. Pansy _did_ mention she can sometimes be quite irregular." She leaned forward and rested her forearms on her knee, cup and saucer in hand. "This is the last we shall speak of your indiscretion. Surely we would never wish to have this conversation again, wouldn't you agree? Nor would we want to spend our twilight years pondering the distasteful question of who actually sired our grandchildren."

Narcissa's words were a knife to my heart! I gasped as the full ramifications of her suggestion burgeoned within my mind, yet I found myself unable to keep my admiration at bay of her shrewd, detached handling of the situation. Alas, we sat there together, she sipping her tea calmly and I completely undone, the crushed Blue Morpho floating dead in my cup.

She continued, "How terrible it would be for Pansy to ever shoulder such an unrelenting burden of doubt." And then she delivered the fell blow. "Do you recall, Lucius, that such potions weren't available in our day? Not that I would have ever used such a concoction, mind." Her face softened as she was momentarily overcome by the treasured delight of motherhood; however, she kept her eyes upon me, unrelenting. "How I love my son! But, that's me."

Oh! Slain by her words! Her agonising, merciless words which from that day forth would irreparably colour the depths of my soul with the hellish, inky black of doubt.

"Are we sorted?" she asked, quite businesslike.

"We are," I said affirmatively, quite surprised I had in me a heart that should break.

"It's settled, then."

"Indeed."

\- - -

  


  
_Cocoons of Memory_   


  


  
_   
**17**   
_   


It is here that I end my tale, dear reader, my snapshot of her shredded and tossed to the wind. My son and his flower returned from London and nary was a word spoken of events best left to the past.

I never touched my Pansy again, although my hunger for my lust for her would thrum through my veins evermore -- I longed bitterly for the fleeting days where not only had my lust been most fervoured, but when also my passion had been realised by her returned affections. My memories of her roil freely within my mind, their images empty, discarded cocoons left vacant and forgotten in the wake of her flight. It was as reprehensible a prison as I'd experienced, for even if she were to turn back to me -- just one more time, dear reader! Although, I can assure you she never again did -- it would never meet, never exceed, the pen-ultimate high of our first coupling, and therein lay the crux of my want. This, I knew, was the quandary of my addiction. I could time and again seek such great heights, but it would prove to be a wasted venture. My brass ring now lay tarnished and discarded, and while I might look for a future, our window together was stained. My Pansy, as I would always see her, lay eternally crushed between the heavy pages of time, her wild Heartsease youth alluring and grand. My solipsistic allegories firmly hypothesised, it was in this light that I would remember the vestiges of our ignoble affair, as the vivid and twisted culmination of a debauched, eighteen-year crescendo of my own orchestration. Believe me, reader, I shall spend the rest of my days hopelessly lost within a sea of shivering, gossamer wings of memory, batting at them fruitlessly in the egocentric confines of my mind, and there I would quietly remain slave to my prurient desire for the fleeting, exquisite first bite of my Pansy's Prussian imago.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback [here](http://smutty-claus.livejournal.com/53798.html?mode=reply).
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> _   
> **Author's Notes**   
> _   
> 
> 
> _Heartsease_: The juice of pansy blossoms is traditionally used for love potions. Heartsease refers to the uncultivated, wild pansy, and in combination with the honeyflower is a visual representation of forbidden love.
> 
> Summary: _All fathers are invisible in daytime; daytime is ruled by mothers and fathers come out at night. Darkness brings home fathers, with their real, unspeakable power. There is more to fathers than meets the eye._ \- Margaret Atwood, _Cat's Eyes_
> 
> So, yeah, _Lolita_! While I'm typically a fan of sparser writing, there is something about Vladimir Nabokov's opulent purple prose in _Lolita_ specifically that fascinates me. Our own JK Rowling counts _Lolita_ as [one of her favorite novels](http://www.quick-quote-quill.org/articles/2000/0500-heraldsun-templeton.html). And what is the last line of _Lolita_, that made JKR cry? _I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita._
> 
> Where I would disagree with JRK over, though, is the idea that _Lolita_ is a love story, and that's what made doing a _Lolita_ tribute fic using Lucius as the protagonist so appealing. I felt Lucius would be a character who would prioritize his own hedonistic desires and wants over everything else -- he demonstrates his inadequate impulse control when he slips Ginny Weasley Tom Riddle's diary in Flourish and Blotts, which we subsequently learn is a Horcrux. Like H.H. in _Lolita_, Lucius Malfoy exists only within his own solipsistic frame of reference, where his interpretations of others supersede the reality of what an individual's wants and needs may really be. Lucius thinks nothing of depriving Pansy of her own father in order to further his prurient goal, still years away, nor does he particularly worry about Narcissa or Draco. He thinks of Pansy as a possession, which I tried to show with the line _"I--" She seemed at a loss for words, for, really, what would a girl of eighteen have to say that might interest a man of my age?_ I think I just wanted to write something that demonstrates how actions speak volumes more than words, and that sometimes people can be easily lost or morally mislead in the face of a breathtaking, exquisite presentation of words.
> 
> Nabokov was an avid lepidopterist, which is a fancier of butterflies and the scientific study of butterflies. Nabokov's work is known for containing butterfly references.


End file.
